


The Most Beautiful Lie

by ScrewzLooze



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Kissing, M/M, Slow Burn, Thief Minho, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrewzLooze/pseuds/ScrewzLooze
Summary: Jisung is an aspiring law enforcement investigator in his third year of college studying Behavioral Psychology. Despite the existential crisis looming over him in his every waking moment, one of his classes entails a mandatory internship component that he must complete if he is to pass the course. Taking Jisung’s career objectives in mind, his professor’s TA assigns him to a nonprofit that works with delinquents and troubled youth. There he meets Minho, a headstrong, feisty young thief and certified troublemaker. Jisung enters his life when he least wants anyone bothering him, and against all odds or maybe thereof, Jisung falls deeply in love with that permanent frown on his face.





	The Most Beautiful Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Finally I’m back at it with another Minsung fic. ^^ This one was a surprise birthday gift for a friend of mine who studies Psychology but I thought I would share it with the AO3 community as well. If you like to dwell on body language and Psychology, this fic should be fun! Do note that she likes angst ;-)

“I’m well aware that this idea may sound counter-intuitive at first blush. As with most elementary principles in Psychology that emerge over centuries of tedious scholarly work, there are many plausible ways to grapple with its meaning, regardless of the author’s intentions.” Jisung’s professor began in a baritone voice as slow as poured honey, referring to the quote projected onto the screen behind him. Jisung squinted his eyes, pupils constricting around the bolded, white quote by Pascal, _“Kneel down, say your prayers, and you shall believe.”_  
_  
Of course it was_ _counter-intuitive_ , Jisung scoffed under his nose with unease, crossing his arms defensively.

A man in his late 40s, his professor’s face beamed knowingly under the long, fluorescent tubes secured to the ceiling. Jisung could have sworn that their eyes met for a brief second, just long enough to convey his confusion through them before the man’s mouth curled into a smooth smile, accentuating the wrinkles bracing its corners. Jisung sunk lower in his chair, blunt fingernails digging into his sides as he looked around the sparse body of students scattered all around the lecture hall, some as confused as him, some in the front rows nodding along eagerly. Jisung rolled his eyes at them, a huff of air escaping his pursed lips before glancing back at the professor.

“It can be useful in trying to understand how belief formation develops. If you are a marketing or business major, I recommend you revisit Pascal when you get the time. If you want to sell a product, you have to sell people a habit first. Then you’ve got yourself an instant clientele. But for our purposes, we won’t be studying how customs shape human belief. What we want to understand is human behavior when it’s boiled down to its bare bones. I think Pascal’s wisdom lies in the proposition that human nature is more malleable than we were let on. Maybe we can change people if we start by changing their habits. I’m not saying you have to agree with him, we will certainly encounter psychologists who believe otherwise. Maybe you think your ideas shape the world more than the world shapes your ideas. How much of our behavior is dictated by intellect and how much of it is just automatic? Either way, the requirements for this course include an internship component, and as most of you have already been placed, I would like you to keep today’s lecture in mind for the next twelve weeks or so. Some of you will encounter people on the best days of their lives. Others will see them at their worst. It matters little which camp you were assigned to. You are there chiefly to make observations, as it is at the heart of Behavioral Psychology. Take note of the way people can change in just a span of three months depending on their specific circumstances. Can people change? Or are there things that never do?”  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


The ice-cold cup of coffee held tightly between Jisung's splayed fingers swirled along sluggishly as he tried to blend the sixth teaspoon of sugar with it. He was one teaspoon away from going over the recommended daily intake for his age and height, as Chan had kindly pointed out a few weeks ago while trying to tear a drink equally saturated in sugar away from him. It didn't stop Jisung from consuming it all the same, only now he had to smuggle it into their shared dorm, and drink it close to frozen so as to hide the brewed smell.

Just 4PM in the afternoon on a Thursday like any other, he was running on his third cup. He needed it to stay awake until midnight so he could continue organizing and editing the video clips littering his hard drive. They were part of a project for another one of his Psychology classes where he had to compare and contrast different people making the same micro expressions.

Jisung's love for his major had slowly succumbed into a necessary set of routines, like breathing and coffee. First he inhaled, then he took a sip, until his mug was empty and his lungs full. The two kept switching places, with empty lungs to full cups, and somewhere in-between, his dreams got lost and never found.

Originally a Music major, he had been struggling with his coffee addiction for a while. He once went to a therapist Chan recommended him but ended up cancelling on future appointments after she suggested that the reason behind Jisung's obsession over his work and school life was because he tried to fill a void in his personal one.

The mere thought was infuriating. But it happened two years ago and Jisung had more patience back then. He could tell that the therapist felt sorry, dedicated to saving Jisung from himself the moment she saw him, but Jisung found more refuge in the ceaseless pile of schoolwork towering on his desk more than someone poking at the truth drowning in a liter of coffee and cream. That was the day he decided to turn his life around and study Psychology instead. Maybe by understanding others, he could come to understand himself. It also didn’t help that a big part of him wanted to become a police detective following in his father’s footsteps, but perhaps he got bigger boots to fill than he could.

Glancing at the tip of the sugar mountain peeking out from under the pitch dark swamp of his cold drink, Jisung hoped his next one will be warmer once Chan leaves for his night class at six. His efforts in pulling himself up by the bootstraps hadn’t been too fruitful. The more he learned about people, the less he seemed to understand them.

He was growing undeniably bitter on the inside, the years molding his eyes into sad crescent moons, reflected on the surface of the brown liquid. More than the mountains of sugar, that sadness rendered his face unrecognizable. Perhaps his therapist would say that he liked his coffee tooth-rottingly sweet to overcompensate for the gaping bitterness chewing him empty on the inside. Jisung dispersed her voice pecking at his skull with an apathetic sigh, before lifting his coffee cup to take another sip. The insolubized mixture of bitterness and grainy sugar bits melted along his warm throat, the rim of the mug that had burned onto the surface of his desk showing.

Much like with that stain on his desk, he was certain that his professor’s PowerPoint slides had left an equally lasting residue on the back of his eyelids. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, all he could see were bold, white letters or clips of stoic faces twitching and giving their intentions away. The faces of millions of strangers was burned into his irises - Jisung was overwhelmed.

He was a social butterfly all his life. He always cared more about others than himself, so it seemed like a natural switch to study human behavior. But as it turned out, loving people didn’t always mean understanding them, because the more he seemed to understand, the less he loved them.

He smoothed a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair just enough to have it creak. Chan was the other way around - he started as a Behavioral Psychology student before switching to Music. Jisung met him on his last Music class, which was Chan’s very first, then they winded up as roommates. When asked why he switched, Chan just said something along the lines that “human behavior can't be understood, only admired.”

“Is that coffee I smell?” Chan questioned, bursting out of the bathroom with his blouse buttoned-up the wrong way. Jisung contemplated telling him, but was too busy talking around the coffee in his mouth.

“No.” He mumbled. Chan was unconvinced.

“Don’t they teach you how to spot a liar? Your fingers always impulsively twitch when you are lying. Although at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just the caffeine.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” Jisung muttered, putting his mug down in defeat. Chan didn’t have to glance at it to confirm it was coffee. Him and Jisung’s professor had the same knowing but tender smile.

“You will just have to take notes, right? That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“You had to intern at a children’s daycare, Chan. Let me remind you of what I got...I got some kind of residential treatment facility. Not children barely spelling their names right, learning that it’s wrong to show affection by pulling each others’ hair. My work won’t be about giving positive reinforcement to a kid for his macaroni art project. I will study guys who are near rock bottom for a minimum of 15 hours a week. They don’t want me there. Even _I_ don’t want me there...I just can’t do this.” Jisung sighed, the sound muffled by his hands covering his face. “Maybe I shouldn’t become an investigator.” He added as an afterthought.

“I’ve never met someone who didn’t like you. You have a contagious, dorky smile, and those guys are not heartless. It could have been much worse. I know of a girl who had to intern at a psychiatric ward. She still has nightmares about it sometimes.” Chan shivered at the memory, shaking his head. “I’m glad I went back to Music.”

“I guess I should do that, too.”

“Don’t give up without trying!” Jisung hated when Chan spoke to him like an elementary school teacher trying to talk some life into his student. “Think of it as volunteer work!” The older boy smiled in encouragement, eyes crinkling their usual way. His arms curled around Jisung from behind, snatching the mug still half-full with coffee off his desk in the process. “And I’m confiscating this.”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, his shoulders tensing, but Chan had long flung himself toward the kitchen sink to pour the liquid down the drain.

“But I needed that…” Jisung whined, listening to the drain gulp down its entire content.

“Stress triggers the desire for quick fixes and old habits. You don’t _need_ that coffee, it’s just your stress talking.” Chan replied nonchalantly, rinsing the cup with a satisfied grin at Jisung’s pained groan. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“There’s no need to lecture me. You are a Music major now, remember?” He sulked, spinning around in his chair, which dutifully creaked at the movement, his unfinished video project greeting him with a close-up frame of someone’s scrunched up nose. It reminded Jisung of his professor when he laughed, or his mother when she was disgusted by something. The same gesture could mean a million different things. Jisung felt lost once again - how was he supposed to make sense of people’s behavior when he couldn’t even make sense of his own? He had no idea his fingers twitched when he lied until Chan just pointed out.

Jisung let out an exhausted moan, head painfully colliding with the edges of the table as he tried to rest his forehead against it.  
  
Maybe he was overreacting; or maybe he should look into turning his Music minor back into a major.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  


The facility was nothing like what Jisung imagined it would be. He imagined concrete walls and barbed wires, security guards at the entrance, dark clouds ominously hovering above the area and people ready to punch him in the face as soon as his feet crossed the threshold.  
  
It turned out to be very homely - there were old, mighty sourwood trees surrounding both sides of the building, birds busy chirping and greeting the people passing by. The inside had several floors, the first on which the office of Jisung's adviser was located. _Kim Woojin_ \- his information sheet said, _room #0497_.

The hallways were long, bathrooms and drinking fountains on either ends, offices like Woojin's only a few steps apart from each other with chairs nearby serving as waiting areas.

It was early in the afternoon and most people were out for lunch, but Jisung could still catch a handful of people leaning against the walls or sitting on the chairs. They paid him no mind and Jisung was beginning to get comfortable.

That homely and comfortable atmosphere soon came to an end when he finally found Woojin's office, about to reach for the doorknob when he almost got slammed in the face by the door. Someone he could only see in a blur collided with him, sending him spinning to the side.

A man with an angular jaw but otherwise soft and round features stormed after said person, his hair quiffed and the sleeves of his plaid red shirt rolled up to his elbows. His voice was deep but kind, although evident with frustration. Jisung assumed he must me Woojin.

The cause of that frustration, and the person who almost broke Jisung's nose, seemed to be a boy of Jisung’s age, who looked like he came out of the 90s, a black leather jacket hanging on his frame loosely, studded at the collars. Chapped lips, tinted purple from a cheap lollipop; mint green converse sneakers. Through his equally loose burgundy t-shirt, Jisung could make out prominent collar bones curving into deep shadows under the hallway lights.

"You could at least apologize!" Woojin chided, pointing with his hands toward Jisung.

The boy in the leather jacket spared Jisung an icy glare.

Jisung wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

"It's not my fault he was in my way."

The adviser sighed, mussing his hair with his palms.

"You're only saying this because you are angry. You don't mean it."

Jisung's eyes raced back and forth between the two strangers, until the boy's lips turned into a frown, his eyes narrowing at Woojin.

"Please come by my office tomorrow, too. Okay, Minho?" Woojin asked, voice gentle but firm. _Minho's_ shoulders visibly deflated, before he took one last look at Jisung, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and then walked away. Jisung felt his breath catch at the gaze.

Minho's steps echoed in the hallway as he made his way toward the exit, the sound of the glass doors shutting close bouncing off the walls. Woojin and Jisung both watched until he disappeared into the distance, then turned toward each other.

Jisung's shoulder still hurt from the collision, so he ran a hand over the aching spot, greeted by an apologetic look on Woojin's face.

"I'm so sorry...Are you Jisung by any chance? I'm Woojin."

Jisung nodded, feeling at ease again, a friendly smile rising to his face as they shook hands.

"And that guy was...?" The blonde inquired with a smirk, pointing with his head toward the exit.

“Minho. He’s a delight.”

“Yeah…” Jisung muttered, his eyes lingering on the leaves drifting past the glass door every so often with the wind. “I can see that.”

“No, but really,” Chuckled the adviser, ushering them inside his office and pointing toward one of the chairs for Jisung to sit in. “He has a lot of anger. It’s hard to wrap my head around his motivations sometimes. He doesn’t talk much when he sulks. He just sort of ignores you or looks at you like he wants to kick you in the guts.”

“I think I know that look.” Jisung replied, remembering back to Minho’s glare when they collided. Just the memory of it brought back the chills, although there was something else mingled in that shiver, something strangely warm.

“He’s not as bad he seems. It can get a little hard to understand his reasons and motivations but he has them. He lives by his own rules.” Rambled Woojin in a daze. He was clearly fond of whoever this Minho guy was. Jisung wondered if Minho had earned that affection or if Woojin simply had a heart so big that even Minho could fit inside.

Jisung pressed his thighs together, hands falling awkwardly onto his lap as he cleared his throat, not sure of what to say. He didn’t know Minho enough to agree or disagree. Woojin got the hint.

“Anyway...welcome to our program! Sorry it had to start off like this."

"It wasn't so bad. I actually like the neighborhood."

"Well, what were you expecting? A prison?"

Heat rose to Jisung's cheeks at the question, deepening when it was followed by a heartfelt chuckle on Woojin's end.

"This place isn’t like that. Some people, such as Minho, just need some guidance. I've been his adviser for over a year now since he moved to the city. Boys like Minho had questions growing up they couldn't find the answers to, so they came to the wrong conclusions about the world. Our program's philosophy is that no one is inherently bad. We work with delinquents and young adults who were convicted of misdemeanors or are at risk of being convicted. You don't have to worry, you will meet some of the nicest people here."

If Woojin meant stuck up bad-boys with 90's aesthetics, then Jisung thought he must be right.

"I've worked with your school before, so I know that you are here to help out and observe some of our clients. We connect them to community service opportunities on or off probation, help them find a job, apply to college, and offer counseling services. A lot of what interns do here is research, but you will also get to help our clients prepare for their important days, like accompanying them to a job interview. Sometimes a funeral…” Woojin mumbled, sadness flashing through his eyes in the way they drooped, along with his lips. Jisung’s heart fell. “There are confidentiality agreements and rules we have to go over, but other than that, today will be a pretty boring day for you." The man said with a polite smile, proceeding to pull out a binder large and heavy enough that it required two hands to hold it. "It shouldn't take long. I can introduce you to some of the other advisers afterwards if you are interested."

Woojin wasn't fully correct about everything - although the rest of that day went by uneventful, it seemed to take forever, and Jisung wasn't really interested in meeting the other advisers. He wanted to begin working and learn about the clients there. Maybe more interested in learning about Minho specifically.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**

  
After his first day, not a single day went by uneventful.  
  
Two weeks into his internship, Jisung arrived to see Woojin argue with Minho in the hallway outside of the man's office, almost like the first time he had met them.  
  
"I already told you! How many more times do you want me to? I didn't do it!" Minho yelled into Woojin's face, hands high in the air.  
  
"I'm sorry Minho, but this wouldn't be the first time this happened."  
  
"And what happened exactly?" Jisung interjected, some of the tensions between Woojin and Minho immediately dissolving. The thief turned away from them, nervously running a finger through his hair, while Woojin licked his lips before replying.  
  
"Minho had gotten into a fight with one of the other guys."  
  
"Over what?"

"He’s accusing Minho of stealing his wallet."

Jisung glanced at Minho, shocked to meet a pair of pleading eyes. He was used to seeing Minho angry, smug, even mocking in a way. But this time, Jisung's heart skipped a beat, his gaze falling to the other boy's lips bitten raw to the point of bleeding.

He thought Minho was an attractive guy since the moment he saw him. But only now did he take a note of his wide, doe eyes; lips, a washed crimson, plump like roses in their prime of blooming. Minho had tousled hazel brown waves matching his eyes, a contrast to Jisung’s golden strands. He was the dark to Jisung’s light, which was a perplexing idea considering that Jisung was afraid of the dark.

He knew Woojin had probably asked Minho this question more than enough times but he wanted to see Minho's reaction for himself.

So he asked, "Did you do it?"

Minho rolled his eyes, accompanied by a choked sound somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"No. But who's gonna believe me?" He scoffed. Woojin opened his mouth to say something, his index finger rising but stopping mid-way as he tried to object. Only silence followed.

Jisung furrowed his brows.

He believed Minho.

"Who's inside?" He asked Woojin, motioning with his head toward Woojin's office.

"The other boy. Changbin."

"Let me talk to him." Jisung said, taking the folder out of Woojin's hands and flipping it open to skim through the files contained within.

_Multiple instances of public property defacement. Prone to express defiance against authority but protective of friends and family members._

"Wait, what?" Woojin croaked.

"Maybe if it's someone his age, he will be more likely to open up and tell the truth."

Woojin glanced to the side for a quick second, contemplating Jisung's suggestion, before looking back into his eyes, foggy with exhaustion.

"Whatever. This shit happens all the time." He said, sighing into his hands before stepping aside.

Minho quirked a brow, lips twitching at the statement but didn't say anything. He seemed more hurt than angry for once. Jisung couldn't find any comfort in that realization.

He eventually entered Woojin's office, finding Changbin sitting in the adviser’s chair like it was his, legs perched over the table and fingers interlocked behind his head.

Changbin turned toward him, his lips pressed together in an ambiguous expression. His mouth and eyes stood in a straight, relaxed line, eyes attentive. He wasn't surprised to see Jisung.

"Who are you?"

"I'm an intern." The blonde replied, quietly closing the door behind himself while watching for Changbin’s reaction. "My name's Jisung."

Changbin didn't move; hands still behind his head, leaving his chest and face unprotected. It was a sign of confidence, which was good because the more unbothered he was, the easier Jisung could trick him.

"I've heard someone stole your wallet."

"Yeah." Changbin replied curtly, his upper lip rising in a snarl. "It was Minho."

"How do you know it was him?"

"'Cause I saw him do it."

Jisung wasn't too convinced.

"Can you tell me how it happened?"

"What do you think? I was waiting for Woojin, then he sat next to me, slipped his hand into my pocket, and tried to snatch it."

Changbin's eyes were hard and hooded. It looked like a textbook example of disdain.

"Has Minho stolen your wallet before in the past?"

Changbin's gaze shifted for the first time since they've met. He looked away slightly from Jisung before glancing right back.

"Many times."

"And how did he do it?"

Changbin’s eyes budged to the side once again.

"The same way. He would reach into my pocket while I'm busy or listening to music, then pull it out."

He kept breaking eye contact, his hands uncurling from behind his head so he could straighten up in his chair.

He spoke fast, voice raised a pitch higher. He was still angry but not the same way as he was in the beginning.

"Could you tell me what else you were doing today? From the morning up until now?"

"What?"

Jisung smiled encouragingly, waving his hand.

"It's just a standard question I have to ask, sorry."

"Oh, right...I had community work in the morning, then I got lunch."

"Did you see Minho before the incident?"

"Yeah...In the bathroom."

"In the morning or when you went to get lunch?"

"Uh...In the morning."

"And when you saw him for the second time, where was he?"

"What second time?"

"When he stole your wallet. Isn't that correct? You saw him once in the morning before lunch, then after lunch when he stole your wallet."

"Right…” Changbin swallowed, clearing his throat with a cough. Jisung’s eyes narrowed. “He was in the hallway, probably waiting for someone, I don't know."

The blonde took out a pen from his pocket, pretending to take notes, trying to unsettle Changbin.

"And what were you doing in the meantime?"

"I..." He mumbled, "went to drink from the fountain down the hall."

"Was there anyone else in the hallway then?"

"Yeah...I few other people. Friends and stuff."

"Did you know right away that it was Minho?"

"Fuck yeah I knew! Only he would dare to."

Jisung glanced up from the paper he was doodling on. Changbin seemed to hold a lot of grudges against Minho.

"Just to make sure I’ve got everything down correctly, could you tell me the whole story again?"

The muscles around Changbin’s lips twitched. He was getting irritated.

"Like I said...I went to community work, then -"

"Actually, can you tell me the whole story backwards? Starting with the moment he stole your wallet? That's the part I couldn't catch." Jisung smiled apologetically.

"I was..." Changbin paused, trying to remember.

"You were drinking from the fountain."

"Yes! I was drinking from the fountain, minding my own business. Then I felt a hand in my pocket where my wallet was and I caught him!"

"But didn't you say that he reached into your pocket while you were waiting for Woojin?"

Changbin's eyes widened.

"Are you stupid? That's what I said!"

"No, you just said that Minho reached into your pocket while you were drinking from the fountain."

"Yeah! I was waiting for my adviser while drinking from the fountain!"

"But didn't you originally say that Minho _sat down_ next to you, and then reached into your pocket? There are no chairs near the fountains."

"T-that was just my tongue slipping. Sitting or standing, same thing. It doesn't matter."

Jisung nodded along, drawing some fangs onto the sketch of his professor's face.

"One last thing and then I'm out of here."

"Fucking finally." Changbin muttered.

Jisung clicked his pen close, putting it back into his pocket. Changbin visibly relaxed, leaning back into the chair with resumed confidence.

"Minho didn't actually steal your wallet." Jisung stated, making Changbin nearly choke on his own spit.  
  


**_____________________________** _ **______________________________**  
  
  


When Jisung stepped out of the office, he found Woojin sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, face buried in his hands, with Minho beside him staring at the floor absentmindedly.

Woojin noticed him first, raising his head.

"How did it go?"

"Changbin was lying." Jisung said, confident but quiet, offering his hand to help Woojin up, who accepted it with a confused smile. From the corners of his eyes, Jisung could see Minho's head as it shot up in their direction.

"Wait, did he just tell you that?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Holy shit..." Woojin let out a relieved chuckle, a hand clutched over his chest. "Thank goodness...Minho said he wouldn't steal again. I just knew it had to be true this time."

Jisung smiled at him, feeling a little awkward from Minho's gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.

Woojin combed a hand through his hair before extending his arm around Jisung's shoulder.

"How did you get it out of him?"

"I've read about this trick in one of my Psychology textbooks...I asked Changbin to recall an actual memory so that I can see what he looks like when he's telling the truth. When I asked him about past incidents of Minho stealing his wallet, he kept glancing away as he remembered back to them. When he was telling me that Minho stole his wallet today, he didn't break eye contact. He wanted to see my reaction to his lie. People who lie often look at you very intensively for longer intervals, because they are checking for your reaction and want to make sure that you believe them. They are not recalling a memory. That was a red flag. So then I asked him to tell me what else he was doing today."

Woojin creased his forehead, lips pinched between his thumb and index finger, deep in thought.

"And why would that matter?"

"It doesn't!" Jisung grinned, "But when people lie, they usually memorize what they are going to say. They can tell you the story in a chronological order. That isn't the same with real memories. You can tell someone how your day went in any order because you know it. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything. So I asked him to tell me what he did today - out of order. Just all kinds of random questions. He was forced to come up with new lies along the way, then got mad at me for pointing out that his story didn't add up anymore."

The adviser nodded along out of habit, although still puzzled.

"But why would he lie?"

Jisung gave him another grin.

"That's up to you to figure out. From what I could gather, he thought Minho was being mean to someone close to him. His files say that he is very protective of his friends. Maybe he just wanted to get Minho in trouble out of revenge."

Minho's cheeks sheepishly flushed crimson in realization, although whatever that realization was, he kept it to himself. Jisung's eyes lingered on him for a while, finding himself unable to look away, until he heard Woojin erupt into a confused laugh.

"And who's this?" He said, opening his folder to find Jisung's doodle in it.

"Oh...I'm sorry. I just tried to look busy."

"You could have actually written down what Changbin was saying."

"I was stressed, don't judge me too harshly." He muttered, feeling Woojin's elbow poke him in the side.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  


"How did you know it wasn't me?" Minho asked as they were walking out of the building, leaving Changbin to suffer under Woojin's fury. Jisung never thought Woojin's head could get as red as it was when he got back into his office.

Jisung shivered, feeling the chilly autumn air pinch his cheeks while he tightened his coat around himself. How was Minho not freezing in nothing but a leather jacket?

"You said you didn't do it." He replied, words simple and light, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So you just...believed me?" Minho asked in utter disbelief and Jisung couldn't stop his mouth from curling into a small smile.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Minho casted his gaze down in shame, lips pressed together as if trying to hold back something.

Jisung wondered if the feeling inside his stomach was what he's been told butterflies are like. A million tiny flaps of soft wings, and a world spinning around him. Minho's face wasn't always honest. It was often strained with unsaid tensions, hiding more than Jisung could imagine. But today, he got a glimpse of the boy behind the mask, and he liked who he saw.

"I'm a lost cause." Declared Minho casually. His voice was surprisingly even and monotone, like he was stating a fact he had known all his life.

The blonde stopped in his tracks, Minho two steps ahead of him before he turned around to look for Jisung.

"Who said that?!"

The thief shrugged his shoulders.

"Woojin."

" _Woojin_ told you that you are a lost cause? When?!"

"Not like in words...but I know that he's disappointed in me."

"That's not the same, Minho." Jisung sighed in relief, although he was still concerned. "You are not a lost cause. No one is. Behavioral Psychology tells us that people can change." He tried to reassure Minho, remembering back to his professor's words, but he only got a confused gaze in return.

"Is that what you're studying?"

"Yeah, and a minor in Music."

He wasn't even sure where they were going, and had just been following Minho since, so he began to slow down, eventually coming to a stop three blocks down from where they started.

They faced each other before parting, the wind whistling around them. Minho stood under a sourwood tree hanging over the sidewalk, its fiery orange leaves landing on his shoulders and hair. Jisung resisted the urge to count them.

"I'm also studying Music part-time, but I'm more interested in dancing."

Jisung couldn't help his eyes race up and down the boy in front of him, only then noticing the muscles peeking through the rips of his jeans. He gulped, finding Minho smirking at him.

"I-I can tell." He stuttered, rolling a pebble under his shoe to ease his sudden nervousness.

"Thanks for today. For believing me...you didn't have to." Minho whispered, bangs obstructing his eyes as he lowered his head to stare at the pile of leaves between them. He kicked them aside.

Jisung's heart fluttered, feeling good about learning Psychology for the first time in a long while.

"We always tell the truth, even when we lie."

Minho grinned, a handsome smile crinkling his doe eyes.

"Isn't that a Scarface reference?"

"Yeah..." Jisung admitted, smiling back with what Chan would alway call his 'dorky' smile.

He then heard Minho giggle and that was also a first. He looked untouchable and unreadable for the most part, Jisung wasn't even sure Minho was able to giggle, but it turned out to be one of the purest, most genuine sounds he had ever heard, as if Minho was meant to be happy and giggling all the time. Jisung was fidgeting where he was standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, a surge of relief washing over him when he noticed Minho doing the same.

"You'll be back next week, yeah? You're always here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

Jisung was surprised to learn that Minho had been paying attention to when he was visiting. He thought Minho would be the last person to know or care. He somehow managed to nod through his shock, albeit stiffly, almost coming off uncertain. But it was enough for Minho.

"I'll see you around, then." The thief waved, turning on his heels without another word. He also seemed to know that Jisung lived in the opposite direction, which had Jisung stare after him dumbfounded, at the skull painted on the back of his leather jacket with a scorpion crawling out of its hanging jaw. Jisung frowned at Minho’s morbid taste in fashion before walking the other way.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


The next time Jisung encountered Minho was three days later, but not at the facility. Jisung was out for dinner with some of his friends from when he was a Music major, and his train got delayed on the way home. It went express after 11PM, which meant that Jisung had to get off a lot further from his dorm. He didn't mind, since he was in an especially great mood, having about five cups of coffee in his system. All that came to an abrupt end when he turned around the corner, noticing someone spraying graffiti on the side of one of the court buildings in the district.

That someone, who would otherwise be a stranger to him, had a figure he now recognized.

"Minho?" He whispered into the shadows, not even sure as to why it mattered.

Minho immediately spun around, half of his face covered with a black mask, but Jisung could still recognize him through his glare. His glare was icy, softening the smallest bit once he identified the voice as Jisung's.

"What are you doing here?" Jisung asked, glancing at the brick wall covered with burgundy and black graffiti ink, the outline of a scorpion taking shape.

"I should be the one asking you that." Minho hissed through the mask, all muffled but still audible.

"Oh, really? I'm not the one ruining public property."

"It isn't ruining it. My friend was found guilty and sentenced to two years in this building. I just came to remind them that I haven't forgotten."

Jisung stared at him perplexed, the contempt in the way Minho's eyes narrowed clearer than daylight, even in this dimly lit nook of the city.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Jisung felt stupid for stating the obvious yet Minho still managed to disagree.

"Go home." Minho barked, shaking the bottle of spray paint in his hand, trying to get back to work until the shrill of the police car’s siren interrupted them.

Jisung gasped, eyes ready to pop out of their sockets in panic.

He had no time to comment on the situation before Minho grabbed a hold of his wrist, beginning to drag him along, tossing the spray paint to the side into a grassy area where it wouldn’t echo upon landing.

The last thing Minho needed was to get Jisung arrested, but as the police sirens were getting closer, he let out an annoyed growl.

"We will have to run. I hope you are in good shape."

"You know, I actually haven't hit the ground in a while so -"

"Save your breath." Minho instructed, his hold tightening on Jisung as he began to run, leaving no other option for Jisung but to follow.

The blonde nearly tripped over his own feet; he could almost make out the sound of people running after them, probably the police officers, forcing him to run faster than he thought was possible of him.

Jisung didn't like running and Minho was making him run faster than he ever had. He hated to be in trouble and generally did his best to avoid conflicts. But somehow, beside Minho, he didn't feel shame, and he didn't feel fear.

"Are you doing alright?" He heard Minho ask, his eyes focused on the road ahead, missing the way Jisung nodded in reply.

"I-I've been better." Jisung eventually mustered, unnecessarily honest.

He wondered if Minho knew where they were going. He wondered how often Minho had to run from the police to leave him this unfazed by the sound of officers hot on their heels.

Jisung tried to note the turns they had taken along the streets and alleys so he could find his way back, but it all proved to be useless when Minho led them to a part of the city Jisung didn't even know existed.

Minho probably knew this city better than Jisung, or any one of Jisung's friends.

"Keep your head forward." Minho told him, interrupting his internal monologue. "If they get a glimpse of your face, it's over. Don't turn around."

Jisung swallowed hard. It was freezing cold outside, he was thoroughly underdressed for a nightly sprint, yet Minho's grip around his wrist was soaring hot, and it left him feeling warm in spite of the situation.

Minho eventually took a sharp turn to the right, pulling themselves between the narrow space left by two towering apartment buildings littered with graffiti works similar to Minho's. This must be a place the thief knew best, and the police knew the least.

There were tall piles of trash at the end of the alley, even under their feet, and the smell of piss and weed almost had Jisung gag. But he couldn't when the space was so narrow that he was pressed chest-to-chest against Minho, and the other boy placed a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Minho's hand smelled like flowery body lotion, which was absurd, especially paired with the strength of his hold.

They stared into each other's eyes, blinking fast, then blinking slow when they heard the police run right past them, their bodies hidden in the darkness of the alley. The only thing Jisung could see was Minho's eyes reflecting the faded, silver hue of the moonlight, his pupils so dilated that it almost swallowed his entire chocolate brown irises. It was a strange mix of warmth and cold, like his touch, or the way he could stare at people.

Once the streets felt quiet and the footsteps of the officers had disappeared, Minho let out a shaky, shivering breath. Jisung instinctively wrapped his arms around Minho to comfort him, realizing too late that they were not close enough for something so intimate, although Minho didn't seem to mind as his head lolled onto Jisung's shoulder, forehead resting on top of the blonde’s shoulder blades.

They shivered together against one another, out of the adrenaline slowly leaving them to fully absorb what just happened. Jisung tried to think of all the things he wanted to do if he gets out of this alive, but the only thing he could think of was the way Minho's body was rising and falling in rhythm with his, and how attractive Minho looked with his hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead.

Minho hooked a finger under his mask to pull it down so he could breathe better, revealing a pair of purple lollipop-stained lips glossy with saliva. Jisung stared at it, then stared a little longer.

There was something to look at on the thief all the time, each part of him more gorgeous than the next. Especially his wide, expressive eyes, making Jisung want to pull a reaction out of him so he could see them vivid and wide all over again, emotions telling his story like pages of a book being flipped.

Jisung wondered if he should say something to Minho; maybe scold him or thank him, perhaps both, one at a time, but when Minho's tongue darted out to lick his own lips, and his eyes fluttered shut with a heavy moan, Jisung completely lost his train of thought.

Jisung threw his head back against the brick wall pressing into his back, eyes focused on the starry night sky, trying not to stare at Minho again. But then the other boy started laughing, rushed and sweet, breathless and loud, and Jisung's eyes flicked back onto his face, their eyes meeting.

"You run fast." Minho noted with a grin, pearly teeth in a perfect row.

"I can't believe I just ran away from the police..."

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Gosh, _no._ " Jisung mumbled, stopping himself in time before adding that while getting into trouble didn't feel good, getting into trouble _with_ Minho felt exhilarating, and better than maybe anything Jisung had felt in months.

Minho's airy chuckle was shaking Jisung's body with their chests so close, and he dreaded the moment Minho suddenly slipped out of the alley, breaking that contact.

"I have no idea where we are." Jisung uttered, trying to catch up to Minho's steady strolls.

"Don't worry, I'll get you home safely." Minho winked, hooking arms with Jisung as he led them out of the neighborhood, green and burgundy scorpions decorating almost every building in sight.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


Jisung got a call from Woojin on a Thursday when he didn't usually visit. In that call, Woojin told him that Minho was in trouble again, but that Woojin believed Minho was innocent this time.

"I'm still impressed by that whole trick you used on Changbin a few weeks ago. You could use it on Minho or something, I don't care. I just need your help." He explained.

Minho was getting used to Jisung’s presence, and Woojin let him read through Minho’s files after the third week.

There wasn’t much in them anyway. As it turned out, Minho was not too talkative when it came to his private life. Woojin suspected that the address they had on file for him must also be fake. But there were a few interesting things here and there. Not surprisingly, Minho had a lengthy record of vandalism, although nothing beyond graffiti and breaking a few windows. He had moved cities several times and spoke multiple languages. He never stole personal belongings or jewelry, only cash. He had a part time job at a bar he never named, but it seemed to be enough to make ends meet. Stealing and vandalism was a hobby for him, and some sort of outlet that Woojin couldn’t figure out the motives behind. Perhaps Woojin gave Jisung the thief’s files so that Jisung could help him figure Minho out. Unfortunately, Jisung wasn’t sure if he was up to the task, as much as he was dying to, and as much as he was already trying.

He thought of Minho every single day. Whenever he saw someone in a leather jacket, his mind immediately associated it with Minho for no good reason. Perhaps it was just Jisung hoping to stumble upon him again. He had been getting off work and school later, hoping to find him vandalizing the street buildings like last time. There were days he caught glimpses of scorpions he hadn’t seen before, but it was hard to tell if they were new, or if Jisung’s mind was just beginning to pay attention to them now.

When Jisung walked into Woojin’s office, he found Minho sitting on top of the desk with his feet dangling off and his shirt so loose it threatened to slip past his shoulder. Jisung smiled to himself, noting the common theme among troublemakers to resist using furniture the way it was meant to.

The thief looked up from his lap, face beaming at the sight of Jisung, who could feel his heart swell at the sheepish yet playful grin plastered all over Minho's features when he entered.

"I've heard you tried to break open the soda machine." Jisung said, looking at the report Woojin handed to him.

Minho shrugged, tilting his head to the side. Jisung's brain clicked, recognizing the challenge posed in thief’s posture. "You need to control your anger." He noted.

Minho shook his head, styled bangs swaying with the movement, before he lifted one arm in Jisung's direction, motioning for him to come closer.

Jisung gulped, his heart hammering against his ribcages, but by then, he knew better than to show it. So he tossed the paperwork in his hands to the side with the flick of his wrist, the stack landing on another table, accompanied by a sharp thud, making Minho's lips part in a silent gasp.

Jisung loved when he could catch Minho off guard, since it happened so rarely. He loved even more the way Minho's legs parted the tiniest bit to accommodate him almost standing between them.

Minho glanced up at him from behind his lashes, each strand casting a long shadow over his cheeks from the lights bright and hot above them.

"You keep getting into trouble." Jisung mouthed, nonchalant in his delivery.

Minho unfolded his arms, balancing himself with the heels of his palms on the desk, which opened up his body for vulnerability. Minho was not afraid, and he wanted Jisung to come closer.

"Maybe so that I could keep seeing you." He teased, lips pulling into a smirk.

Jisung squinted his eyes, stepping closer. Minho's breath hitched for a moment as Jisung accepted the challenge, which was a good sign if the blonde wanted to fish any confessions out of him.

"Did you actually break the machine?"  He questioned, his full attention on every single inch of Minho's body. Jisung hated how his first thoughts were about how beautiful the thief looked today.

"What if I did? Would that mean I could see you more often?"

"It would mean that you are in trouble."

"I like trouble. Perhaps it just ate my coins without giving me my soda."

"Be honest." Jisung whispered. "At least for me."

Minho's gaze fell to the floor, cheeks blooming into a faint poppy shade. Jisung's heart fluttered at the sight. He could never get used to Minho blushing; he didn’t think he ever will.

"I didn't. It was another guy."

Jisung wasn’t sure why, maybe he was too distracted by the office lights dancing in Minho’s curious eyes, but he believed him.

"Then why did you take the blame?"

"I already told you."

"So that you could see me? Really?" Jisung chuckled, the sound dying down as he noticed Minho's shoulders tense up.

"Are you not happy to see me?"

Jisung contemplated all his possible answers. There was no use - he was a terrible liar.

"I'm always happy to see you,” He admitted, “But not when it's because you are in trouble."

Minho's eyes softened at the confession, tracing them all over Jisung's face, searching for something. Maybe he was also trying to see if Jisung was lying. They would make an interesting couple - both of them trying to see inside each other's minds.

"I want to get inside your head..." Jisung muttered on that train of thought. From this close, the boy smelled of leather and minty chewing gum, a combination quickly becoming Jisung's favorite.

Minho hummed in acknowledgment.

"You can't."

"But I have to." Jisung stated as a matter-of-fact, referring to his school project. He gazed into Minho's eyes, feeling their fingers coil around each others’ naturally.

Minho’s irises were dark like the leather he wore, the same darkness that kept Jisung awake at night in fear of the unknown.

“Do you know what _I want_?” Minho whispered, running his hands ever so slowly up Jisung's chest until his arms wrapped around the blonde’s neck.

Jisung’s breath hitched, which didn't escape Minho's attention, even before Jisung's shaky voice gave it away.

"I would rather not guess," Jisung breathed, “But if I had to, I would think that you wanted to kiss me.”

“Well…” Minho chuckled, “Should I?”

“Stop playing games.” Replied Jisung, voice deeper than usual, forcing an excited shiver down Minho's spine.

"Then quit being a coward and _kiss me_." The boy drawled, emphasizing each word, eyes hooded before they completely dimmed close in anticipation of either a kiss or slap. Minho didn’t know, and didn’t care.

His hair was messy as random strands stuck to his forehead until Jisung reached up to comb them to the side; his skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat; gorgeous eyes and heart-shaped lips waiting for Jisung's next move.

Jisung had seen this many times before in other boys, through past heartbreaks and textbook illustrations, this look of earnestness and need, cheeks flushed rosy and hot, wet lips parted in an invite. But it suited Minho like it suited no one else even though it should have been cliche by now, to watch brown, clouded eyes flutter close behind a curtain of long lashes. Jisung definitely had a type, and Minho was _it._

"Only if you ask." Jisung smirked, the side of his cheek flush against Minho's as his mouth brushed over the shell of the thief’s ear.

Minho's knees trembled the slightest bit at the feeling of Jisung's plump lips hovering above his earlobe. He trashed his head back in defeat, neck long, tan, and bare for Jisung to pepper with kisses.

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip in hesitation before placing a tentative first kiss over Minho's pulse, feeling the skin stretch under his mouth when Minho turned his head to the side, wanting to give him more space.

Jisung couldn't help but smile, teasing Minho with a series of light, tantalizing kisses along his neck, every kiss progressively slower and fainter.

It earned him a tug on his shirt and a kick against the back of his knee as the thief tried to connect their lips on his own, but Jisung's lips were too far down.

He chuckled, planting one last kiss on top Minho's chin before the other gave in with a quivering plea, body arching against Jisung's in a surge of impatience.

"I hate you..." Minho whined, lids squeezed shut as words desperate to break free stumbled out of his parted lips. Jisung's eyes traced over those parting lips, feeling the words before he heard them. "I know you want to kiss me..." Minho huffed breathlessly, licking his mouth that had gone dry in the process, with Jisung's eyes eagerly following. "If you don't kiss me now, I'm going to fight you."

"How charming." Jisung remarked, running his hands through Minho's tousled waves before cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over glossed, silky soft lips.

Minho exhaled, shaky under Jisung's rough fingers, with eyes still shut, absorbing the other's every touch, his hands needily fondling the blonde's shirt.

"I'm alarmingly close to biting your fingers off..." Minho mused without acting on that promise, grinning bittersweetly when Jisung hurriedly pulled his hands away.

"Why can't you just be as nice as you look?" Jisung spouted before Minho reached for his arms, folding them around his waist.

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Jisung shook his head, his hold strengthening on Minho's body. The boy giggled sweetly into the embrace, flashing Jisung a satisfied grin. Hugging Minho was like waves approaching the shore, the way water was meant to wash over the sand, each absorbing some parts of the other until the next inevitable tide.

"Am I crazy for wanting to kiss you?" Jisung wondered out loud, planting another series of hungry kisses around Minho's handsome smile.

"Yes, but it’s the right thing to do."

Jisung snorted, lips brushing against Minho's in a sudden move, eliciting a moan from him. Minho was giving in, eager to come apart between Jisung's arms in a wave of crushing desire. No one had ever held this much power over him - he didn't let people close enough. But Jisung was right here, pressed against him, breath hot on the side of his neck, burning holes into his skin. It was light and tingling, but somehow, it was also painful. It hurt in wonderful ways, in ways only Jisung could.

"I won’t ask you again..." Minho sputtered, his voice low, still shaky, and laced with a sense of urgency. “So just kiss me.”

It sounded strangled and airy, like the words on the tips of someone's tongue before their dying breath. Jisung felt the need to study him - the arched brows, like the ones he had seen on people in agony. Minho was gorgeous when he was desperate, as the emotion undid him against his will. There was no other or better time to observe him than right now, before he would build his walls back around himself in defense.

"What if you bite my tongue off?" Jisung teased, earning another impatient whine from Minho.

"I won't..." Minho whispered, utterly breathless, resting his forehead against Jisung's, his fingers playing with the blonde’s necklace conveniently within reach. "I promise. I'll be nice, just this once."

Minho was _fascinating._ His throat bare and parted lips screamed vulnerability, while the actual words leaving his mouth were anything but that. Whenever Jisung leaned closer, Minho's pupils dilated just a little more in arousal and anticipation, his Adam's apple bobbing from a gulp, heavy and thick.

Jisung laughed, tears prickling at the outer corners of his eyes, mind blissfully dizzy as he finally locked lips with Minho, absorbing the other's relieved sigh at the contact.

Minho loved winning, but was more in love with losing himself. It was the only thing Jisung came to be sure of, how winning and losing were somehow one and the same thing for Minho.

It was dangerous to kiss him at the facility, as anyone could burst through the door and catch them. This wasn't part of his course project, either. His actions were completely irrational. But maybe it was part of Minho’s plan all along, to wrap Jisung around his finger, tempting the blonde into recklessness, enjoying the thrill danger and trouble brought about.

Jisung tried to separate but couldn't as Minho chased after his mouth time and time again, biting and pulling at his lips until they got swollen and bleeding. Minho looked composed on the outside, but his kiss was a reflection of him - messy, deliberation and desperation equally mixing. They were two worlds colliding, with Jisung trying to kiss fast and gentle, while Minho was slow and rough. When Minho eventually let him stop for air, the thief’s mouth was plump and glossed, and Jisung found himself unable to look away from it.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


Jisung thought that not much had changed since his first kiss with Minho, or the many other stolen ones in Woojin's office that followed the days after. Others apparently saw it otherwise.

It was funny in a way that Minho kept getting into petty troubles, until Woojin would leave him alone with Jisung. He would always be waiting for the blonde boy, perched on the desk, a badly faked look of innocence on his face without a trace of remorse. They were not good for each other - Jisung was a motivation to get into trouble, and Jisung felt too intoxicated to say no to the feeling of his fingers digging into Minho’s hips to stop him for falling off the desk in the midst of their heated kissing sessions. Minho was a terrible influence, worse than his addiction to coffee, and if not that, then Minho would be the end of him some day.

"So when am I going to meet him?" Chan asked, head above a boiling pot of rice, busy with preparing dinner. Although his back was facing Jisung, the blonde could still make out the obvious smirk in his voice.

"Meet who?"

"Your boyfriend."

Jisung's eyes widened, jaw hitting the floor.

" _Excuse me_?”

Chan turned around, a towel thrown over his shoulder, one hand busy stirring the pot which he was holding up with his other arm.

"You've met someone, haven't you?"

"What on earth would make you think that?"

"Well..." He smiled, soft and kind, no judgment in his eyes. "Where should I begin? First of all, you haven't been drinking coffee lately."

_Oh._

That was true. Minho sort of became a sweeter substitute for the bitter aftertaste of boiled and filtered coffee beans.

He felt better and less groggy in the mornings.

"Then your eyes, mate...They are googly as _fuck_."

"That's a very subjective observation."

"Yeah, but context matters. And the context is that all of these things started to happen right around the beginning of your internship. Am I, or am I not, correct?"

There was silence for a while, and then Jisung's face flushed a deep red. That was all Chan needed to see.

"Did you fall for your adviser?"

"No, geez. No!" Jisung laughed, imagining Woojin and him trying to hit it off, with Woojin sighing and arching into his kisses the way Minho does; cupping and pinching Jisung’s cheek the way Minho likes to, calling him a loser while desperate hands roam around in his hair, fingers twirling the chains around Jisung’s throat tight. If only Woojin would sound as lost whispering Jisung’s name as Minho did, maybe then, Jisung’s head wouldn’t be so occupied with memories of the thief’s thighs wrapped around his hips in all of his daydreams.

"Hm...Then who is it? Don't tell me it's one of the troublemakers."

Jisung's gaze faltered, only to bounce back when he heard Chan placing the pot back on the stove, stainless steel clashing against cast iron.

"You can't be serious...I’ve never thought you were into the bad-boy types." The older boy mused, reaching for the salt. “This is great…”

"He certainly _looks_ the part,” Jisung objected, “But I don't think he acts the part, you know."

Chan glanced at him from over his shoulders with a raised eyebrow. Jisung let out a defeated groan.

"He has this...permanent frown on his face. Like he’s just constantly judging everyone. He can come off a little too confident and mean. But when you dig deeper, he's actually very attentive and insecure."

"Oh no...insecure bad boys are the worst. They end up breaking your heart, while also breaking their own." Chan croaked, turning off the stove. "No one wins in the end."

"He seems so indifferent sometimes, but I think that's because he’s afraid to get close to people."

The older boy rolled his eyes with a sigh, reaching up toward the cabinet to take out two bowls.

"I'm just happy about the effect he's been having on you. But be careful not to love him more than he loves you."

"I'm not sure if that’s possible."

Chan smoothed a hand over his exhausted face, trying to hide his snickering behind it.

"You are hopeless...But alright, whatever you say dude.” He grinned, handing Jisung one of the bowls without looking into his eyes. “Dinner is ready."  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


Minho was a lot of things. He was a troublemaker, he was ambidextrous, unpredictable, and _ticklish_.

"You're so going to regret this..." He grumbled into Jisung's ear, salty yet sweet tears staining his cheeks as Jisung rolled over on top of him, his fingers dancing and tapping against Minho's sides under his shirt. His expressive eyes were shut tightly from laughing too hard, until his chest hurt. Jisung seemed to know exactly where to tickle him to render him powerless.

They had gotten into a lot of arguments lately over Minho's habit of playing cat-and-mouse with the police. His lips were often ripped, knuckles covered in scars trying to mend the damage after a fight with someone on the streets. Minutes before seeing Minho cry from laughter, the thief was throwing a bottle of soju onto the floor out of anger, because Jisung wanted to know everything about him, while Minho was insisting on staying a mystery. Jisung couldn't pin down the reason, but he was fixated on Minho's secrets; he wanted them with a restless pursuit, nonsensical in its motivation, desperate in its delivery. He wanted every single one of them.

The breaking of the glass made Jisung choke up, lips stretched in fear and hands defensively curled against his chest. Minho's eyes would widen in realization every time as if it was the first, and would ran up to him, arms desperate to hold Jisung.

Jisung would always let him, knowing how well their bodies fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle. It was sometimes the only thing that felt right between them.

Minho's love was a lot of things, a lot of beautiful things, and just as much pain. His love animated Jisung's every move, roses and its thorns, sinking into him.

"You won't do anything. You know why?" Jisung hissed between a series of heated pecks and kisses against Minho's neck, purposefully avoiding his lips. Jisung never kissed him on the lips after they argued; it was a sign of forgiveness that took time to earn back.

"You sound too sure of yourself." Minho mused, eyes closed as he soaked in Jisung's every touch.

Jisung always stopped nibbling on his skin before it would bruise; his love for Minho too tender. When he looked into Minho's eyes, lively and glittery, Jisung almost wanted to leave him untouched like those flowers that were not supposed to be plucked. It didn't help that Minho was the kind of flower that wanted to be torn out of the ground, roots and stems, his fingers entangled in Jisung's hair as he tried to hold the blonde flush against his neck so he would suck on the sensitive flesh longer. While any normal person would flinch away from pain, Minho was drawn to, seeking it in Jisung with starving, panging need.

"You like that you can't have everything your way when I'm around." Jisung mouthed against Minho's pulse, feeling it speed up, although Minho didn't say anything in return, only gasped, trying to give Jisung more space on his neck than there was.

Jisung felt a jolt of energy rush through his body, from head to toe, dissipating at the edges of his fingertips where they touched Minho's skin, remaining only a faint linger until Minho's next wishful sigh. Then, the same wave of arousal washed over him again and again, with every airy whimper and choked moan Minho failed to hold back.

"Can I get a kiss?" He heard Minho ask, voice drenched in need, and Jisung was equally, helplessly drowning in it, too. He could have sworn that he began seeing two of Minho at some point, it was so dizzying.

Minho never asked for things, so Jisung had to get good at reading him, and he was not always this obvious.

Like when Minho began adjusting and twisting the rings hugging his fingers, Jisung knew Minho wanted to say something but was nervous to. When he slipped a strand of his hair behind his ear delicately and slowly, Jisung knew that Minho needed reassurance. He would bunch up the wrapping paper around his lollipop or chewing gum and aim it at Jisung, a silent way of begging for the blonde’s undivided attention. Even after all this, it was hard to make sense of the thief, so Jisung stopped trying to. He lived with Minho the way one lived with miracles - they could not be made sense of, only enjoyed while they lasted.

Minho usually waited until Jisung just forgave him on his own, since it didn’t take long, until Jisung kissed him on the lips once enough time had passed. Today, he was impatient.

" _Can I_?" He asked again, quieter and needier. “Please?”

"You have to stop getting into trouble." Jisung muttered against the space under his jaw.

"I can't do that." Minho pleaded, his fingers digging into Jisung's shoulders until the tips turned white.

"Yes, you can. People can change."

Minho shook his head, a tear rolling down his cheek, even as Jisung wasn't tickling him anymore.

The blonde stopped grazing his collarbones at the wetness making its way down his chin. Minho didn't let more slip past him, but that single drop was more than enough for Jisung. Confused about the seemingly unwarranted tear, Jisung gave in without torturing Minho any further.

"Okay...fine. I'll make an exception. Don't get used to it though." Jisung bluffed against Minho's lips, which parted keenly in a triumphant grin, waiting for Jisung to close the seemingly miles and miles of space between their faces.

It was an eternity until Jisung could stop admiring Minho's happy little grin, or his lashes lowering dark and soft atop his cheekbones, locking their lips together in the rise of Minho's desperate sigh.

Jisung's mouth moved with Minho's in hungry waves, separating and uniting what felt like a thousand times, lips sad to part for air, all the more eager to meet again. Minho's lips were glossy and minty from his chewing gum and chapstick, the mixture like wildfire scorching Jisung's swollen lips. The thief cupped Jisung's chubby cheeks, bruised and hurt fingers caressing over smooth and soft skin, silently asking Jisung to not stop - that much Jisung could understand.

Loving Minho was the kind of love that made a man want to live forever, or wither away in heartache. There were no in-betweens. His touch cut through the thickest skin, bleeding the truth and desperation out of everyone. Unfortunately, Jisung's skin always thinned out when it came to love, and was easy to pierce through. Sometime in October, Jisung fell in love with Minho, and his skin grew paper thin in the process. Minho could fold him the way he folded the wrapping around his chewing gum, and toss him away with the same movement.  
  


"I want to get out of this city..." Minho muttered a little while later as they were sprawled across his mattress, with Jisung resting his head on his toned thighs, and Minho sucking on a lollipop that he pulled out from who knows where. Jisung didn’t care; he was too comfortable on Minho's thighs, the most comfortable place in the world, right after the crook of his neck where Jisung spent much of his waking moment, above Minho's collarbones.

Minho rented a one-room apartment with the smallest bathroom Jisung had ever seen; the bedroom itself was just the living room with a frameless mattress in the middle. But the glittering view made up for it, as all the city's greens, reds, and blues danced on Minho's walls, and the rest of the city lights twinkled in tune with the stars.

“Why?" Jisung wondered, turning on his side so he could press his cheeks against Minho's legs. "I like this city.”

“I just need a change.”

The blonde hummed in acknowledgment, pretending to understand while planting lazy kisses along Minho's exposed thighs where his lips could reach them.

“I can’t leave, even if I wanted to. I have school and work here. And you have your community service.”

“It's not mandatory anymore." The other explained, running a hand over his face in exhaustion. "I’ve only kept going there these past few days because I wanted to. But I think I’m done.”

The finality in his voice was chilling.

Jisung knit his eyebrows, sitting up to face Minho so he could read him, but there was no use. No anger, fear, or sadness. It almost looked like he was wearing a mask.

“There are more and better dance auditions opening in other cities. This place is a dead end for me.” He continued, lips tightening in the corners with a lopsided smile; telltale signs of contempt. His arms idly hung by his sides, eyes nothing but a mirror of the city lights, saying nothing of their own.

"Moving is not easy. It takes planning."

"Really? Look around. If I wanted to, I could just walk out the door and be done."

It reminded Jisung of what he read in Minho's files, about how often he moved.

"Don't you have things you like to take with yourself? Like, I could not get rid of my old books or that dresser my grandmother gifted to me. It’s so old, we can’t even use it anymore but I just don’t have the heart to throw it out"

Minho shook his head; and it was one of the few things Jisung actually _hated_ about Minho, about how quiet he could be when there was so much left unsaid.

Jisung muffled his frustrated groan into one of the thief's pillows, falling asleep to the sound of cars driving by, the train speeding down the tracks rattling the windows, and the way Minho's gaze burned a hole through his back. He could feel Minho lay beside him after a while, relaxing when a whiff of the other boy’s minty and leather scent hit him, and an arm draped around his waist.

  
  
He woke up too soon for his liking, still dawn, to the mattress dipping beside him, and his face being covered in quick, chaste kisses all over. It still felt like a dream when he opened his eyes, and found Minho all ready to go, presumably to another dance audition.

The sight of Minho early in the mornings, before he had a reason to be angry, got to Jisung every time like nothing else could. He always inhaled a little too quickly then, his breath catching the second he laid eyes on Minho, and it wasn't just for the lips tinted a deep, dusty rose staining Jisung’s cheeks and forehead after being showered in kisses. It wasn't the white blouse left loose, buttoned-up barely enough to cover Minho's chest. Not the gorgeous outline of his collarbones, or the shimmering burgundy on his eyelids. What got to Jisung was imagining Minho waking up early to get ready; to look this beautiful. Maybe a little extra beautiful for _him_.

He was yearning to know what must have went on inside Minho's head. What was Minho thinking about when the tip of the balm touched the plush, soft pillows of his lips? Did Minho feel pretty? What was going on inside his head when he picked those tight black jeans, when he dug his finger into the eyeshadow and swiped it along his lids? Jisung wasn't as interested in the results as in the process, anything that could demystify the other boy.

And Minho was a beautiful mystery. The things that made Minho most intriguing could not be explained by Jisung's textbooks. He was like a magic trick that would lose its power if revealed how it's done.

Maybe Chan was right; human behavior could not be understood, only admired, and Jisung admired Minho for the mystery he was.

"Can I take a picture of you?" Jisung found himself asking. Minho's eyes widened in surprise - but not in a bad way.

"Why? Do you like me that much?" He grinned. Jisung grinned back.

"I just need it for my final report."

"You need a picture of me for your final report?"

"A video, actually."

Minho blinked at him, jaw clenching and un-clenching as he kept rethinking his response. Jisung could already see the answer in his eyes even before he nodded.

The blonde boy fished his phone out from deep within his pockets left there the night before and pressed the recording button. He smiled at the Minho on the screen, delighted as the sleep-hazed morning light illuminated Minho's features, turning his eyes from a dark coffee shade into warm caramel.

Minho began to sway his hips, the fabric of his blouse gently rustling along. Jisung grinned and bit down on his bottom lip, soaking in Minho's gorgeous figure, and the ease with which he moved.

Jisung felt the confession escape him long before he could try and stop it. He didn’t mean to say it now, or say it this way, but the words just wouldn’t leave him.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Minho stopped in his movements, turning on his dancer’s toes, his elegance issuing shivers down Jisung’s spine, and all the more with that hurt edge in his voice.

"What could anyone like about me?"

Jisung’s face never fell this fast before.

"I love your eyes, for a start." He gasped under those deer-like eyes tracing over his face, searching for honesty. "Statistically speaking, people who have wider eyes are perceived to be more sincere."

"You've learned that in psych class, too?"

Jisung nodded, his weight light sitting on the bed as if he was floating when the thief walked up to him with a gentle, beautiful smile playing on his lips. Minho’s arms wrapped themselves around his neck, a pair of strong thighs straddling him, jeans close to ripping. One of Jisung’s hands routinely ran up those crushing thighs to eventually encircle Minho’s waist in return, the phone in his other still recording.

"What else?" The thief purred, slowly pushing Jisung back down onto the mattress with just the tips of his fingers to his chest, and the blonde wordlessly followed

"It would be easier if you asked me what I don't like. The list is much shorter."

Minho flashed him another one of those pretty smiles at that, although Jisung was still stuck on his eyes, crystal clear like a sunny sky, Jisung’s favorite. He could see his reflection in them, surrounded by the pink fog that clouded his vision.

He was so in love, it felt like June at the end of November. He felt like melting in the freezing cold, and then Minho set him ablaze, "I love you, too, you know?"

Minho’s every word left behind simmering embers and smoldering flames, his touch the sound of fire whispering low, somehow always present even when they were apart. Sometimes it was a painful sensation, as if Jisung had given his soul to the devil, and the earth had swallowed him whole into a place where only fire and Minho existed, morphing into one and the same thing while they burned Jisung alive.

A part of him thought that Minho had just been toying with him all this time. Much to his shame, he didn't mind the idea as much as he should have. He thought that maybe statistics was right, in that Minho was nothing but deception on two legs, but he believed Minho's body more than his words. And from what Jisung could read, his body was honest, with the way it pressed against him, searching for Jisung’s closeness. There was need in his every move, however uncertain, or however rushed. Maybe Minho loved him, too.

But if Jisung was mistaken, and it was all a lie, he didn’t want to know.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


A curious thing about Minho, among many other things, was that he didn't have a phone. He declined Jisung's offer to buy him one, so whenever something happened, Jisung was the last to know.

Because Minho was a dancer, he didn't smoke or drink regularly. But when Jisung dropped by his apartment to find stubbed out cigarette buds littering the room, or spilled liquor sinking deep into the ridges of the aged wood of their floor, he knew something bad must have happened.

Minho didn't like to lose control, so he never succumbed to addictions like Jisung had with coffee, or his friends had with other substances. The only time Minho was willing to let go was in Jisung's presence, and even then, he was quick to suspicions.

Loving Minho was weird like that - he simultaneously needed Jisung but also resisted and rejected him. Jisung was aching to know why he acted this way. He tried to look for signs and answers everywhere, but there was only as much out there in the world about Minho as Minho was willing to share.

Jisung felt like he knew Minho better than he knew anyone while it also seemed like he knew nothing. Some days, it was unbearable to live with someone who felt so close, yet so distant; not a moment went by without him thinking of Minho, yet perhaps he was thinking of a stranger.

"Have you seen Minho?"

Woojin looked up from his laptop, glasses sliding off from the bridge of his nose, drawing attention to the dark circles under his eyes.

Jisung was soaking wet from the rain that began pouring while he was on his way to the facility, on a Friday, when Minho was also supposed to be there.

"I actually haven't seen him since yesterday. He's been skipping a lot of sessions."

"Do you know why?"

It was a silly question, Jisung knew. Still, he had to ask.

"I mean," Woojin sighed, putting his glasses to the side as he massaged his temples where the frames left a temporary mark, "He doesn't have to come anymore. His probation period is over. He's just been lingering around, you know. I asked him to. He is a guy with big potentials and big dreams."

"And big problems?"

Woojin gave him a sad smile.

"What him and I talk about during our counseling sessions is confidential. But to be honest, him leaving has been a long time coming. He always spoke to me about wanting to start again somewhere else. He is very adventurous."

Jisung wasn't buying that explanation. It sounded more like Minho was trying to run away from something rather than plain thirst for adventure. Maybe trying to run away from himself.

"He was drinking and smoking today. When this happens, do you know why he does it?"

"Aren't you the Psychology student?" Woojin grinned, trying to lighten up the mood. It wasn't working.

"Minho doesn't make any sense."

" _People_ don't make sense, Jisungie. The best we can do is help them along their individual journeys."

Jisung had a million more questions but he was starting to believe that Woojin wouldn't know the answers to them either. It was frightening how Minho could slip into his self destructive habits, not having any safety nets around him to stop his fall. There was only Jisung.

 

Rain, that once gently pattered against the sidewalks, was now pouring. heavy and callous drops hammering the pavement outside where Jisung was walking. It was the foretelling of an ominous storm approaching in the distance, accompanied by sulky, vengeful clouds, all blurred under the foggy blanket of the ceaseless rain.

It left behind a sky patched together by purple and blue clouds, reminiscent of old bruises still fresh enough to hurt, like the ones covering Minho's body. Jisung was unaccustomed to seeing the world this way; when it rained, he used to enjoy the rhythm the drops played against the ground, he used to find beauty in autumn leaves being blown away by the wind. He loved the colorful crowns trees wore, the muddy earth crumbling dry under his shoes. But nothing felt right on days Minho was gone and hurt.

A storm, perhaps even bigger, stirred in his chest as he got back to Minho's place. Jisung decided to go there instead of his own, hoping that at some point during the night, Minho would show up.

He threw himself down onto the mattress, his feet almost knocking over one of the many bottles nearby. He contemplated taking a sip of one that was still half-full but eventually decided against it; the last thing he needed was picking up another bad habit.

Minho had been a wonderful gift in his life; he was able to cut back on his coffee intake because of him; had found happiness outside of school and work. He wished he had the same effect on Minho.

The sadness and frustration bubbling up inside him was making him too hot in his baggy jean jacket, but he didn't have enough energy left to take it off. So he just collapsed onto the bed that smelled like Minho, always so sweet, stained from the flowery lotion he lathered himself in after taking a shower. Jisung wanted to suffocate in it. He stuffed one of the pillows under his head, and took a deep breath until he only knew mint and leather.

He didn't notice how he dozed off into a nap, waking up to the feeling of a hand running through his hair gently. His face prickled like it could sense the weight of Minho's gaze burning into him.

"I brought you cheesecake." Minho declared, his alcohol infuse breath hitting Jisung in the nose.

He wanted to laugh, imagining a tipsy Minho stealing a slice of cheesecake for him. It was a tentative peace offering on Minho's end for leaving Jisung hanging all the time; perhaps the best he had to offer. Jisung contemplated accepting it, but he had no appetite.

“When did you get home?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Minho scratched his neck, the way he did when he was lying. He usually wasn’t this obvious, but the alcohol in his system made it difficult to concentrate on his body language. Jisung wanted to smile, wondering if Minho had just been sitting on the bed beside him, watching him sleep and playing with his hair, but couldn’t.

“Where were you?”

“At work.”

“You went to work drunk?”

“No…” Minho muttered, getting up to undress. Jisung’s eyes lingered, engraving into his head Minho’s every move.

“Then what’s this mess?”

“It’s from yesterday.”

“You were drinking two days in a row? Did you get drunk at work today?”

Minho nodded, presumably to both questions.

Jisung rubbed at his eyes with a heavy sigh. Minho watched, naked except his underwear. He looked like he was afraid to come closer, as if Jisung was a bomb ready to explode at any given moment.

He decided to go to the kitchen instead to put the cheesecake away. It had a strawberry on top - Jisung’s favorite.

“Would you like me to help you clean up?” Jisung asked once Minho got back from the kitchen, referring to the mess in his room. Minho seemed to be in thought before shaking his head. “So when will you do it on your own?”

“Stop sounding like my mother did.” The thief complained, laying down on his stomach beside Jisung’s sitting figure, half-heartedly pulling the bunched up covers over his waist.

Jisung wasn’t any better when it came to his room, either. If not for Chan, his room would look like a landfill. But that was exactly why he knew how good it was to have someone who cares enough to help in, and take care of the little things that add up over time.

Jisung wanted to be that person in Minho’s life. But Minho wasn’t letting him.

"And stop staring." Minho grumbled, although with a smile evident in his voice. He knew Jisung was staring at him even with his eyes closed and face pressed into the pillow.

"Can't I admire you?” Jisung jeered, endearment and longing in his tone equal and inseparable. “It's all you let me do."

Jisung brushed a hand over Minho's back, a finger teasing down the curve of his spine, reveling in the softness of his skin. The blonde was careful to skip the bruises, many fresh, many old and faded. He saw the goosebumps rise under Minho’s velvety skin and felt him arch into the sensation with an appreciative hum. Jisung’s heart was twisting and coiling where it thrummed in his chest, the need to hold and kiss Minho larger than life. He tried not to succumb to the temptation, since Minho was drunk and it didn’t feel right considering their circumstances.

The thief eventually flopped over, staring up at Jisung through a gap in his fingers, too much of his face hidden to read his expression. It was pitch dark in the room anyway.

Jisung looked away from him, fixed on the night sky and faintly twinkling stars visible through the window, sighing when he felt kisses being pressed to his hands, trailing up to his jaw.

At any other time, Jisung would relish in Minho's kisses, pull him into his lap and make out with him until their faces hurt, as they often did.

But his eyes caught a glimpse of the alcohol and cigarette ashes littered all around, and it made him feel sick.

Minho's lips moved against his skin hungry and apologetic, his eyes shut, breath staggering. Jisung should be kissing him back fervently by now but he wasn't, and it bothered Minho.

"Have I done something wrong?" His voice was small, still lost in their tiny room.

Jisung wasn't sure what to say. Was Minho doing anything wrong?

"I'm just tired..." He lied, the same way Minho lied to him about being okay.

Minho stopped in his movements only to crawl into Jisung’s arms, making them both slump back down against the mattress, until Jisung’s face was right in the crook of his neck where he knew the blonde loved being.

It felt wrong but also too good for Jisung to move away, so he stayed. Minho had strong arms that felt like the safest place to be in, and he didn’t have the strength left needed to fight it off.

Throughout the night, he kept waking up and falling back to sleep. He could have sworn he felt wetness trickling down onto his face from somewhere, and something that felt like Minho’s lips brushing against his own. Salty, fearful, and painfully longing.

When he woke up to the sunlight tickling his nose, his hands patted the area next to him, searching for Minho, but the bed felt cold. Cold and empty.

He didn’t want to open his eyes because he just _knew._ But he opened them anyway, finding a room clean of cigarette ash and bottles. In fact, it was clean of _everything._ Minho’s laptop that used to be plugged into the wall, his clothes, his shoes, makeup and all that was also gone. Including Minho.

In fact, even Jisung’s necklace was gone, the one he always wore because it was easy to dress around it and he couldn’t bother taking off. Minho often played with it. Jisung wanted to give it to him, seeing how much he liked it, but Minho always refused. It seemed like he did want it in the end, if nothing else.

Jisung checked his wallet but nothing was missing from it. He read it in Minho’s files weeks ago that he never stole jewelry or other belongings, only cash. That must had also been a lie, then.

The only thing left in the house was in the fridge - the cheesecake Minho bought for him yesterday, with the same heart-shaped, glazed strawberry on top.

Long ago, Minho told Jisung that he should stop counting the bruises on his body. Jisung should have listened.  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


Jisung threw himself down in one of the seats at the end of the lecture hall, the entire row empty. It was their last class for the semester, and Jisung was ready for it to be over as much as all the other students who decided to skip.

The words on the PowerPoint, in an all-too-familiar bolded white font read, "The Scorpion and the Frog."

Jisung's entire body churned. He nearly collapsed into himself as his heart clenched, falling out of rhythm.

It hurt too much; the voice of the professor nothing but a faint buzz in the background as the walls were closing in on him. He was coming off a high he didn’t know he was on until Minho left, and now he was crashing.

"If this sounds familiar, then that is because you were probably around five to ten years old when you first heard it." His professor began, voice irritably unbothered, completely unaware of Jisung's world crumbling to pieces with each second.

He pressed down hard on his keyboard, the sound ringing in Jisung's ear canals before the next slide flashed brightly onto the screen, with a picture of a scorpion lying on top of a frog.

"It's a mid-20th century animal fable. I was around eight years old as well when my mother first read it to me going to bed. I wanted to finish class with this fable, because this was the story that inspired me to study and eventually go on teaching Behavioral Psychology. The fable is as follows - a scorpion stands before a river, in need to get to the other side of it. He can't swim, but comes by a frog who could carry him over. The frog knows that scorpions sting and kill, so he doesn't want to help. The scorpion eventually coaxes the frog, promising that it wouldn't make sense to hurt him, since they would both die if he did so. The frog agrees to help, but before they could reach their destination, the scorpion does indeed sting the frog, and with his dying breath, the frog asks the scorpion why he did it, since now they will both die."

Jisung was sure he will throw up. He could feel the bile rise from deep within, somehow deeper than his body, maybe it was just his soul crawling out of its flesh-bounded prison. The professor looked around fondly at the crowd of undergraduate students bored out of their minds. Jisung wondered if anyone would notice if he passed out right then and there.

"Remember back to Pascal's words, and the proposition that people can change. The fable of the scorpion and the frog goes against everything Behavioral Psychology is about, since if you are familiar with the tale, you already know what the scorpion replied. His answer was simple, yet one of the most puzzling things my eight-year-old self has ever heard. To this day, I'm still trying to figure out what he meant by it - " _It is just in my nature to do so.""_  
  


**____________________________________________________________**  
  
  


Jisung still didn't understand. He was sure by now that he never will. He knew as much about Minho as he did before he met him - basically nothing. He fell in love with a stranger. For the most part, Jisung was to blame. He only saw what he wanted to see, and all he wanted was Minho.

He sat down in front of his computer, pulling up all the pictures and videos he had taken of Minho during the times they shared. He made them a special folder, although didn't care to organize it much, so he just idly clicked on the first one.

It was the very first video he had recorded of Minho, from the morning he realized that he fell in love with him. Minho was wearing that loosely buttoned white blouse and raspberry pink lips. Jisung's heart tossed and turned between his ribcages, threatening to burst out of his chest at the sight.

He quickly closed the tab, although Minho's blushed cheeks and warm, caramel brown gaze lingered around, haunting him until he went back to watch it in its entirety.

Jisung was tearing up, a thick, painful lump forming in his throat, strangling his breath. He could hardly see through the tears obstructing his vision, so he stopped to rub at his eyes before stumbling on.

As Minho was dancing, the phone had captured the words escaping Jisung. _"I think I'm in love with you."_

Minho smiled at him. Jisung's heart seized, the thief's smile making him relive that gorgeous, sunny day, now all alone in the darkness of his room.

_"I love you, too, you know?”_

Jisung wailed at the words, stopping the video, face buried deeper and deeper between his hands.

His body shook with each sob, the brightness of the computer screen in the pitch dark hurting his eyes. Yet he couldn't make himself close the tab.

Minho's eyes crinkled at the corners, lips stretching from ear to ear. _Didn't he mean it?_

Jisung replayed the video a few more times, getting the same sincere impression without a doubt ; until he finally looked away from Minho's face, painstakingly, only then noticing the other boy's fingers twitching by his sides.

Jisung's heart fell, every inch of him freezing in motion as he remembered back to Chan's words,

_"Don’t they teach you how to spot a liar? Your fingers always impulsively twitch when you are lying."_

Jisung let out a choked laugh, almost hysterical. The realization hurt, yet he couldn't stop laughing. Maybe nothing had ever hurt this much, maybe he had never laughed this hard.

He felt cheated, like he had traded his soul for Minho’s body; but while Minho had taken Jisung’s soul with himself somewhere to another city, Jisung’s arms were left vacant, neither with a body to hold, or a soul to love. Minho took his body with himself; he took everything, and anything that could matter. Jisung wished Minho had taken his money instead of his heart, that would have been easier to replace.

As the daze and the stinging pain had worn off, Jisung's heartbeat slowed down, thudding painfully in his chest, like the march of a wounded soldier who knew he won't make it out alive, but had to keep going. His hands trembled and his vision was swimming in the remnants of the pink fog clouding his common sense. The world was clearer down, and all the darker.

Jisung leaned back so far in his chair it bent, staring at the ceiling with a silent face and hanging jaw.

Minho was a little selfish, and a little lonely, and Jisung was very in love. Maybe Minho didn't want to cause him more trouble, so he left before things could have gotten too serious. Problem was, things were already pretty serious on Jisung's part. Maybe Minho was afraid to be a disappointment for him, it was hard to tell, when all Jisung had to rely on was wishful thinking. Minho was convinced he couldn't change, and that he was no good for Jisung - and maybe it's true that we become who we believe ourselves to be.

He got up from his chair to sit at the kitchen table facing their small dorm window. He needed to move, to feel that the world had not stopped spinning.

He could see the sun setting, its dying light streaming through the pastel curtains.

Minho was reminiscent of that sunset in Jisung's life, the light before the world would fade into dark. And now that he was gone, only the night remained, casting Jisung's world into shadows.

But for no sunset can last forever, the sunset teaches how to love and to let go. So too it meant, that to love Minho was to let him go; letting the coppery sky and whisked clouds voyage into the mysterious blanket of the unknown. To love Minho was to let him disappear into the folds of that night sky, all his little white lies shining like stars in the void he had left behind, and among those stars, his love shined brightest, the most beautiful lie.

**Author's Note:**

> If you were wondering - Minho’s zodiac sign is indeed Scorpio. I wanted to play on that symbolism, mixing Astrology and Psychology in this story for fun, which is why he had a scorpion on his jacket paired with the animal fable. :D (My dear friend, whom I made this fic for, likes Astrology, so I had to cater to her. ^^ <3)


End file.
